Surprise Visit
by TheWeasleyBoys
Summary: One more crast would solve everything...right right? Sequel to 'Voices of Korova'.


**Disclaimer**—I'd love to own this original work, really I would…but I'm afraid I wouldn't have made it as memorable as a certain pair of dudes managed to do ages ago. I think I'll stick with the fan poems instead, hm?

**Author's Note**—Welcome back, oh Brother Tom Pepper. Thou hast been sorely missed, oh yes.

*ahem*

This marks the fourth poem in something I like to call the 'For the Love of Pete' series, my little dive into what might have happened to one of the surviving droogs while the second joined forces with the millicents and the third had to cool his heels in the Staja. The first of these poems is entitled 'Don't', the second 'Sweet Moloko', the third 'Voices of Korova', and then I have this, 'Surprise Visit'. It's my attempt at explaining the turning point in this character's life that leads him to the office and the _altar_ (gigglesnort), so hopefully I can take a little artistic license and give the guy some justice.

Just in case anybody's wondering why I use so many asterisks…it's because the formatting on this site doesn't seem to like line breaks between paragraphs that are center-justified. I kinda had to come up with my own separator, so…there you go. I'll probably go back to left-justified when I get to poem number seven, but until then…that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Oh, yeah, and so nobody gets confused by the middle and end of this poem…Pete's hallucinating, hungry, thirsty, tired, full of synthemesc, and he collapses/passes out on a stranger's doorstep. The rest of the droogs aren't there, but he kinda wishes they were, so…the drugs do the trick for him, or so it seems. ;) My edits also have him not knowing whether he wants to attack the people in the house while they sleep, to rob them, or to make them his new gang, which just serves to add to his confusion, I believe. _And guess who the owner of that house is_? *smirk smirk giggle*

**Surprise Visit**

Starlight and moonlight shines outside,  
Statefilm and sinny glows inside.  
I walk alone on shaky feet  
Along these dark and merzky streets.

The knives and needles stab my brain,  
I feel the sting of icy rain.  
I stumble onwards through the snow;  
The hole inside me starts to grow.

How could I let us fall apart?  
What like madness was in my heart?  
Was it worth the krovvy we spilled  
To keep ourselves from getting killed?

The snow falls fast, like cold and thick.  
I feel drained and a little sick.  
In the distance, I viddy light  
And follow it fast through the night.

My vision blurs and my head aches,  
But little Pete, no zvook he makes.  
In front of me the main street ends,  
Behind me, I sloosh absent friends.

Hi, there, Dimitri, if I may  
You left those millicents today,  
Would it please you to itty on  
And whistle your malenky songs?

Hi there, Georgie, well well and good  
For you to be back like you should.  
Safe and sound, away from the dead  
And not a scratch upon your head?

Oh, little Alex, why so sad?  
It's me who done the baddiwad.  
I frown from anger and like shame;  
I never knew that life's no game…

But here, viddy _that_ in the light?  
The domy rising from the night?  
If we descend upon it fast,  
Might we go have one final crast?

I turn around; they've disappeared.  
There were none of my droogies here.  
They've gone and left me all alone,  
No wonder I've felt almost gone.

Do I press on, and dare to freeze  
In like cold snowfalls such as these?  
Shall I be brave and carry on?  
Shall I go crasting all alone?

No one hears me push through the gate  
That's left wide open on this date,  
I step into a golden glow  
That's spilled out onto deep, white snow.

All that I lost from this old life,  
Somehow I got to keep my knife.  
And I got a good use in mind  
To crast whatever I can find.

I smot inside, and then viddy  
Three horrorshow malchicks like me.  
They've got their games, they've got their wine,  
And they're having a grand old time.

Some unnamed droogs, I ask myself?  
Some secret kept upon the shelf?  
I'll shive them all, if shiving serves  
To drat my pain and soothe my nerves.

Three I see, but four they must need  
To keep alive the droogie creed.  
I'll slip inside and with all force  
Become their leader there, of course…

…But how to reach them, or sneak in?  
If there's just me, how could I win?  
There's no way I'll stand at that door  
And watch them fall without three more!

All at once, messels fill my head.  
I could platch and ask for a bed,  
Beg help for my hunger and thirst;  
Then while they spat, I'd do my worst.

Now that a plan is now in place,  
A nasty smile comes to my face.  
That gang of droogs will soon be mine,  
And then maybe I'll peet their wine.

Three small knocks is all that I need  
To get their attention, indeed.  
The needles prick my mozg once more  
But I can't stop until there's four.

I sloosh their footsteps in the hall,  
They don't suspect poor Pete at all,  
With a weak look they might prefer,  
They see me hurt so bad for sure!

They let that door swing open wide.  
Those droogs don't know what's come inside.  
You're all lambs before my slaughter,  
"Please, sir, might I have some wa…"


End file.
